


The Cure for Space Madness

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Crack, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:13:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4228407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Written as comment fic for the announcement of the winner of the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/250827.html?view=7409355#t7409355">"March Madness in September"</a> contest at <a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/">jim_and_bones</a> .  Bones won in a vote between he and Jim.  In this fic, in an Enterprise-wide round of "Hot or Not," the contest comes down to Bones and Jim.  Bones wins.  Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure for Space Madness

Author: blcwriter  
Title:  The Cure for Space Madness  
Rating:  NC-17, smut, slash  
Summary:  Written as comment fic for the announcement of the winner of the ["March Madness in September"](http://community.livejournal.com/jim_and_bones/250827.html?view=7409355#t7409355) contest at [](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/)**jim_and_bones**  .  Bones won in a vote between he and Jim.  In this fic, in an Enterprise-wide round of "Hot or Not," the contest comes down to Bones and Jim.  Bones wins.  Or does he?  
  
Trust Jim and his _ridiculous_ knowledge of twentieth century pre-galaticweb arcana to come up with a ship-wide contest of such fucking inanity that _of fucking course_ it would grip the crew in such a fit of giddy insanity that it was all they could think about.  
  
“’Hot or Not?’ Jesus FUCK, kid, what _is_ this shit?” Bones said, looking up from his email. Belatedly, he realized that had to be what had his nurses all whispering and clicking and giggling away on the computer over in the furthest corner of Sickbay earlier on in the day.  
  
Jim pushed up his glasses and uncrossed his legs from where he was sitting on the floor instead of on Bones’ perfectly good couch, hunched over a PADD. A sheepish smile crept on to his face.  
  
“Just staving off space madness, Bonesy,” he said, making oogly eyes as he intoned every captain and CMO’s favorite diagnosis for the shipwide itchies that struck any crew with not enough shore leave or shit to keep themselves busy. “We’ve been out here three months doing nothing but astral cartography and scaring the Romulans and Klingons back onto their side of the Neutral Zone and everyone’s tense as all fuck, depressed and moody and all of that shit, ready to snap at the slightest hint. I figured it was something harmless that everyone could have fun with, plus it’s a little bit of competition, which hey, we’re Starfleet, people can’t help it.”  
  
Bones re-scanned the email and frowned. “More like give everyone on the ship who submits their damned picture a complex if they don’t get voted hot enough to satisify their damned egos. If I run out of antidepressants or have to…” (he shuddered, he hated that part of his job) “provide emotional support to someone, I’m gonna kill you.”  
  
Jim tapped something on his PADD and heaved himself up off the floor, padding his barefoot way over to where Bones was working away on too much fucking paperwork on his bed. Seemed like the only time they got to spend time together these days outside official meetings and briefings (oh, and the patching Jim up after getting worked over by hostile fucking aliens again, that was getting tiring, quite frankly) were these late nights doing paperwork and sharing a beer—just like the Academy and all that goddamned homework, except Jim couldn’t drag him out for parties or fistfights against his will anymore until Bones quit bitching and had a great time despite himself. Not that he’d ever told Jim that. He couldn’t let the kid’s ego get any bigger than it already was.  
  
“Nah. Don’t worry about it. And look, the picture I uploaded of you has gotten 566 ‘hots’ and not one single ‘not’!” Jim’s smile was half gleeful and half wary, a mix of “look what I did” and “you’re not really going to kill me, are you, old man?” that was more than its fair share of charming, especially as his glasses slid down his nose. He resisted the urge to reach up and push them back up for Jim, since he seemed to be oblivious to the way they sat slightly crooked and highlighted his slight bit of cross-eye.  
  
There, in all its statistical glory, was a server display of Jim Kirk’s sheer deviltry—a picture of Bones that—yeah, Jim had taken of him back in their last year of school when they were camping down in La Jolla—and it _was_ a good picture, Bones would admit, one of the rare ones when Bones actually smiled, complete with a little graph bar underneath of “Hot” and “Not” and the numbers of votes.  
  
“And how about you, hunh,” he asked, feeling a smile tug at his mouth whether he wanted it to or not. Stupid Jim, the dumbass had a way of knowing what kind of weird shit would cheer everyone up. “How many votes do you have, Captain Awesome?”  
  
Jim just smirked and slouched back to his seat on the floor. “Unh-unh, Bones. You want to know, you’ve got to play. I’ve got it set up in automated brackets, locked the whole thing up and handed the codes over to Spock so even I can’t fuck with it anymore. Free form voting for two weeks, and then quarter, semi, and finals over the next month, and may the hottest man, woman, or asexual sentient win.” His smirk seemed to indicate that he knew exactly who would come out on top, and it’d be the same asshole who hacked the _Kobiyashi Maru,_ assurances of handing it over to the green-blooded hobgoblin or not.  
  
Well. Bones would see about that. Five hundred sixty six votes, hunh? He could be charming when he felt like it, and Jim’d been feeling his oats a little bit lately with the string of successes they’d had on their diplomatic missions and first contacts, as well as the way their last few Romulan and Klingon encounters had gone.  
  
He clicked on the link. Ensign Murtagh, from Deneb IV? With that wart on his forehead? _Not._  
  
\--  
  
Over the next several weeks, Bones smiled, held open doors, worked on his bedside manner, and on several occasions did _not_ grab for the last piece of pecan or sweet potato pie in the mess when he would have in a hot second before. His numbers climbed like a rocket, and in the quarter-finals, he wasn’t surprised to see the field had narrowed to himself, Gaila, Jim, Sulu and Uhura. He was rather surprised by the inclusion of Spock, but he guessed some people got off on the lure of the unobtainable, either that or they genuinely liked the unemotional sonofabitch. Ah well—if his psychiatry degree had taught him any damned thing, it was that people were inexplicably kinky.  
  
Jim had to make one announcement about server use during work hours with his usual casual finesse-- or lack thereof, Bones still wasn’t sure which, except that Spock said that it worked and the server use dropped back to acceptable memory limit during alpha and beta shifts, which just made Jim smirk even more insufferably, because seriously? _Attention all hands, I personally think you’re **all** hot because I wouldn’t tolerate not hot peeps on my boat, but please make sure your jobs are getting done before you get on with your daily voting, okay? Thanks, and Kirk out._ What kind of announcement was that? On most boats, it’d get Kirk nailed for sexual harassment, but not on Jim’s flying high school in the sky.  
  
Hell, he’d even caught Spock mulling over his votes on his PADD in the mess.  
  
“Sulu doesn’t do it for you, hunh?” he’d asked, after watching Spock carefully tick off his choices. “Never thought I was your type, but glad to know…”  
  
Spock jumped about three feet out of his chair and Bones laughed his way out of the mess, heads turning as he slapped one hand on his thigh. Later that night, before bed when he checked, his numbers were almost even with Jim’s, with Gaila’s and Sulu’s coming close in behind. Spock and Uhura were way far behind.  
  
Hah. Him and Jim, hunh?  
  
Wouldn’t that be a laugh, if it came down to them in the finals? He’d better amp up his game. It’d be good for Jim to lose something.  
  
\---  
  
It was all he could do not to check the server every five goddamned minutes during the whole week of finals.  
  
A week?  
  
There were only 996 crew members. They could vote in a day, maybe two to accommodate the rotation of all four shifts and the possibility of red or yellow alerts. Why did Jim have to make it a _week_? And Christ, Bones had gotten to know more people on the damned crew in the last month than he had in the whole year he’d been out here, which in the end he supposed had been a good thing—he’d been turning into kind of a hermit except for the time he spent doing paperwork with Jim, but during the time he’d spent schmoozing for votes he’d actually met a few section chiefs and Lieutenants he wouldn’t mind hanging out with or sharing a meal with every once in a while. He’d even gotten asked out on a date by a couple of folks—and while they had gone well, the chemistry hadn’t been there, somehow, and he’d suggested they just be friendly. Everyone had taken it pretty well, better than he had thought, though Lieutenant O’Meara’d had a weird smile when he’d turned down her subsequent offer for supper on Thursday by saying that that was the night he and Jim usually did paperwork in his room.  
  
“ _Right, well,_ the Captain. He _is_ your best friend. Wouldn’t want to get in the middle of that,” she had said, smiling, then kissed him on the cheek and walked off. What had been up with the weird tone in her voice?  
  
Jim had been all nonchalance when he’d shown up in his ratty old sweats with his usual shit-stack of PADDs and his glasses, and was still nonchalant when his Yeoman showed up ten minutes later. That was great, just fucking great-- Rand knew Jim’s routine so much to a T that she could chase Jim to Bones’ quarters to get him to sign off on requisitions _and_ treat Bones like he wasn’t there while she did so? Some little blonde beehives had all the nerve, especially with the way that they simpered “thank you,” at the Captain and apologized a little too fucking profusely as they shook their too-short miniskirted behinds while they leaned over to pick up some PADDs. Still, at least Jim didn’t seem to notice as he mumbled “Thanks, Jan,” and signed off on PADDs while barely looking up at the woman.  
  
When she was finally gone, Bones grumbled and poured them both whiskey, since the last time he’d tried for some beer, the replicator’d spat out some vile brew that tasted like piss.  
  
Jim smiled in thanks as he took his drink (ice, ugh, but he was younger and maybe with age he’d learn to drink it neat someday like a real grown-up) and curled up on the floor like he usually did, balancing all of his shit on the coffee table and pulling out a small paper notebook and pen to make real notes, since he claimed sometimes he thought better that way. The kid was so fucking archaic sometimes, for how forward-thinking he was.  
  
Bones managed a whole half hour of work in between desultory work conversation—the new agro chief sucked but his junior showed promise and was compensating well for the chief’s shortcomings so far, Sulu and Chekov’s relationship didn’t seem to be affecting their on-bridge performance, the usual shit—before he checked the finals score site.  
  
“What?” (It was not an undignified squawk. It wasn’t.)  
  
Jim looked up and smirked. “I noticed you were getting a little agitated yesterday and today, Bonesy. I figured if you couldn’t check the stats every five minutes, you’d actually get some work done. Everyone can vote, but nobody’s going to know the actual outcome of the vote or the final tally. I had Spock tweak the code with a little hack I worked up.”  
  
Twinkly-eyed mind-reading pretty-boy blond code monkey son of a bitch.  
  
Oh. Shit. Did he say that out loud? He must’ve, because Jim was laughing aloud.  
  
“Why, Bones, I thought you thought this contest was stupid.” He smiled again and took a sip of his drink, his blue eyes merry over the rim of the tumbler. “Don’t worry, it’ll all be over Friday, and in the meantime a little bird’s told me you’ve attracted lots of comm numbers and emails, so hey, it hasn’t been the emotional shitstorm you thought it would be, has it?”  
  
Bones might’ve mumbled that no, no, it hadn’t.  
  
Jim smiled, though it wasn’t a smirk—it was more … wistful than that. “Yeah. I hadn’t quite anticipated the personal angle on things, but turns out lots of people ended up tracking down folks whose pictures they’d seen and it’s ended up being a kind of Love Connection and Friendster type thing, which is pretty damned cool if you ask me.”  
  
Bones shook his head. “I have no idea what those are, but if you say so, Jim, I’ll take you at your word.” He took a swallow of his drink and then had an unpleasant thought—much like Rand waggling her petite little ass just a few minutes ago. “How about you? Make any new friends?”  
  
Jim snorted, shaking his head. “I memorized the crew roster the first week. And much as Jan and a few others would like a love connection, it’s not going to happen. Power dichotomies like that are just icky.” He took another sip of his whiskey, pushed up his glasses, and picked up another PADD, tapping it on with a stylus.  
  
Bones shook his head. Only Jim could use _icky_ and _dichotomy_ in a sentence about sexual dynamics and make total sense-- and be … discomfitingly reassuring thereby.  
  
Friday rolled around and at the end of beta shift Bones was trying to do inventory to calm his damned nerves when Jim’s amused voice came over the comm. “Attention, all crew. I know you’re just sitting around on your duffs and staring at your computers and PADDs and not doing work in any event, so I’ll just go ahead and make the announcement. Mister Spock has been kind enough to inform me that our good CMO is the garnerer of the most Hots, and that I, alas and alack, just did not. I hope you all had fun with this little contest, and please all congratulate Dr. McHottie on his grand champion status, though keep your hands to yourself in respect of all Starfleet rules and regs unless Dr. McCoy gives you his prior consent. Kirk out.”  
  
There was a cheer in the sickbay—that and a fair share of wolf-whistles, and Bones couldn’t help it if his cheeks burned a little. But hell, he’d won, which as Jim might say, was pretty damned awesome.  
  
\---  
  
Over the next several days, Bones had more requests for dinners and dates than he knew what to do with and hell, it wasn’t all people flattering or ogling him either. So if he spent several weeks checking out his options, that was all to the good, right? He was the ship’s CMO—he was supposed to get to know the crew—and if the love connections didn’t quite stick, well, everyone had had a good time and left satisfied at the end, and that was what counted.  
  
“You sure you don’t mind?” he asked Jim over lunch in the mess when he asked to move their paperwork night from Thursday to Sunday so he could go out with Carlo Ramirez. Jim, who’d been reading some PADD he’d been passing back and forth with Spock, who had joined them, shook his head in an absentminded kind of way, a wry smile tugging his mouth.  
  
“Wouldn’t want to get in the way of Dr. McHottie’s hot social life,” he said, then stuck out his tongue.  
  
Bones felt his neck flush and shot back “Whatever, Captain McNottie.”  
  
Jim grinned and turned back to Spock, who was watching the interplay with not one but two eyebrows raised. “So. If we tweak the ops budget down 3%, we can work the munitions around…”  
  
Right. Budgets. That would be Bones’ cue to leave.  
  
\---  
  
He was eating a piece of peach cobbler and drinking his coffee when Spock unexpectedly sat opposite him, one of his more serious bitch-faces on, and the hobgoblin had plenty. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what he’d done to piss the half-Vulcan off.  
  
“You are neglecting your friendship with the Captain,” Spock said, cutting right to the chase.  
  
Umm. What?  
  
“Since when is my personal life any of your fucking business?”  
  
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Since I have observed the Captain spending the last three Thursdays doing paperwork in his office until midnight or later and have observed that you have not socialized with him outside of the senior officer meetings that we all attend. I am aware that your Thursday night paperwork sessions are spent mostly doing paperwork from my previous conversations with the Captain, but it was my perception that Jim enjoyed the opportunity to spend informal time with his friend. However, when I inquired, he indicated that you have rescheduled your sessions several times and that he did not want to ‘nag’ you, I believe was the term. While I enjoy a certain level of rapport and social congress with Jim,” the Vulcan went on to say, his face all screwed up and constipated-looking, “I do not believe our friendship meets the same needs the Captain once found fulfilled during his congress with you. And the captaincy is inherently isolating, despite the level of informality Jim manages to encourage between himself and the crew.”  
  
Since when had the hobgoblin been on first name terms with the Captain? And had it really been three weeks? Jim had said he didn’t mind—if he’d minded, he’d have said something, right?  
  
Right?  
  
“Jim’s a social guy. He’s perfectly capable of getting his needs met whenever he wants,” Bones retorted, trying to keep his voice low. A niggling doubt niggled away— _Power dichotomies like that are just icky_ \-- and Jim was just so fucking busy as Captain. Given the chance between work on his baby-girl ship and something else …  
  
Spock raised both eyebrows in a look even Bones could interpret as _You are a dumbass._ If Vulcans used such a word. Then again, the man was half-human.  
  
He slid one PADD out from his stack and tapped it a few times, then turned it around and pushed it over until Bones had no option but to take the damned thing.  
  
He read it, then read it again.  
  
“I thought he…”  
  
Spock twitched an eyebrow, one that clearly said _This is the crazy bastard who hacked my Maru that we’re talking about._ It was scary that Bones could read Spock eyebrow like that, but whatever—he had more important shit to think about now.  
  
“Did he rig the whole…”  
  
Spock shook his head. “He did not. I have checked all the prior rounds and the results. He merely insinuated himself into the database at the last minute during the very last round.”  
  
Bones suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore. “Here. Recycle this for me, will you?”  
  
Spock nodded calmly as he took Bones' tray. “Gladly, doctor.” He folded his hands neatly and said “I believe you will find the Captain in his quarters. He had a conference call with Admiral Pike that is scheduled to conclude in three point two minutes.”  
  
Bones raised an eyebrow at that. He hoped it conveyed the message he wanted. _Fuck you, you meddling bastard. And thanks._  
  
Spock actually quirked a small smile. “You are welcome.”  
  
\---  
  
If Jim was going to hack, Bones could hack too. He punched in his CMO override and walked right into Jim’s quarters, where the man was just standing up from the console at his desk and pulling off his command gold.  
  
“You weaselly sonofabitch.”  
  
Jim finished pulling his shirt off and tossed it _right into_ the laundry chute. Fucking magnificent, perfect aim, the asshole, then stood there in his black undershirt. Of course, the kid was already barefoot and in his sweatpants, not that they’d have seen him from the waist up in the comm screen.  
  
“Um, hi?”  
  
Bones shoved him back onto the bed and then crawled on top of him, effectively pinning Jim with his weight, then started poking him on the chest. “We would have been TIED if you hadn’t cast _your_ fucking vote in my favor. You fucking HACKED the goddamned database to vote AGAINST your damned self.”  
  
Jim, all serious-faced, said with what was complete honesty, “Well, I would’ve voted for you anyway because I mean, Bones, have you looked in the mirror, but I needed to know if I had to make up some extra crew members too to tip it over the edge in case it wasn’t that close, but it wasn’t, so I only had to cast my own vote.”  
  
Bones spluttered. “But … I voted for _me._ ” Everytime he’d teased Jim about their competition, Jim had just grinned and said “Bring it on, man,” like Jim was sure he would win.  
  
Jim smiled so fucking sweetly that something in Bones’ chest kind of broke. “Yeah. Like I said, I mean, have you looked in the mirror? You’re a real cutie.”  
  
“But …” He didn’t get it. Really, he didn’t. Jim didn’t believe in no-win scenarios. He was the most competitive sonofabitch Bones had ever met in his life—playing Trivia Night with him got fucking _ugly_ unless you were on his team, and Risk, Stratego or poker? Forget it. “Why?”  
  
Jim shrugged. “You got amped up about something, it was nice to see you not so fucking grumpy. And you were meeting people … five years is a long time not to socialize, Bonesy, much less meet people with the potential for more.”  
  
Bones didn’t quite know what to say to that. After a moment, Jim gave him a sheepish grin. “So—are you going to punch me or let me up? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, I’ve got a kink in my back and I could use a hot shower, I’ve been in conferences all day and I’m freakin’ tired, dude.”  
  
What?  
  
Oh.  
  
He looked closer. Jim did look really tired—Bones scrambled off and away, ashamed and embarrassed because it wouldn’t have ever occurred to him to give his best friend an ego boost like Jim had—and here he came busting on in and tackling Jim and just being a hothead and, well, shit.  
  
“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry… I’ll … I’ll just get out of your way.”  
  
Jim opened his mouth and then shut it, then opened it again. “I just need a shower, you could wait, stay for a beer … unless you’ve got a date with another one of your hot dudes or babes or something, I mean,” then shut his mouth again and rubbed at his forehead. “You know what? I’m tired and babbling. Never mind me.”  
  
He heaved himself off his bed, rolled his neck on his shoulders—a motion that earned more than a few painful sounding cracks and jeez, wasn’t the kid getting enough fat in his diet, usually he had to jibe at the kid about too many French fries and not enough salad—and gave Bones a wry grin as Bones took his cue and stood in the doorway.  
  
“Night, Bones.”  
  
“Night, Jim,” he said.  
  
The door closed on a deep, resigned sigh.  
  
Wait.  
  
What?  
  
\---  
  
Jim had managed to get out of his undershirt and was halfway out of his pants, long muscular thighs halfway exposed past the black boxer briefs that covered a—well, it was pretty fantastic ass, he’d always known that, he’d just tried to ignore it-- when Bones barged back on in. He’dve gotten in sooner but his hands were shaking a little as he punched his code back into the keypad.  
  
Jim looked up and said “You know, the postman at least always rings twice.”  
  
“I don’t even… what … shut the hell up,” Bones managed before he tackled Jim once again and proceeded to do the only thing he could think of, which was to kiss the hell out of his stupid, stupid, stupid, apparently equally hot, if not hotter best friend, since Jim hadn’t even fucking exerted himself during that stupid contest, just let Bones go out there and charm the fucking pants off the crew. Jesus. If Jim had just tried, Bones would have been fucking blown out of the water, most likely.  
  
“Stop thinking and kiss me harder, you asshole,” Jim ordered, wriggling just enough to kick his pants off the rest of the way and hitch one leg right up under Bones’ ass until their cocks ground together, a motion that drew satisfied groans out of both men.  
  
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Bones said, and proceeded to shut Jim the hell up in a way that was quite satisfying for them both, or at least that’s how it seemed, given the way Jim’s hand was worming its way into Bones’ pants to grip at his cock, that and the little grunts and groans he was making as they rutted like two horny teenagers.  
  
Jim eventually started to tighten his grip on Bones’ cock—that and wriggle like he wanted to slither down—and though Spock’s voice was the last fucking thing he wanted in his head at this moment, well, there it was, that and a Greek chorus of others, Jim’s the last and not least among them.  
  
_“You are neglecting your friendship with the Captain.”_  
“The Captain ... your best friend … wouldn’t want to get in the middle of that.”  
“Much as … they want a love connection … it’s not going to happen.”  
“Five years is a long time not to meet people … without the potential for more.”  
  
“Unh-unh,” Bones growled out, pulling away just long enough to get them both stripped—Jim lent his aid with a happy grin on his face at this new, naked turn of events, ogling Bones with happy avidity. “Nefarious and cheatery cheating captainy cheaters notwithstanding, I believe the phrase is ‘winner takes all.’”  
  
And then he sucked down Jim’s cock like it was the last piece of pecan pie in the Gamma Quadrant. Judging by Jim’s choked “nnnngggph” and the way he grabbed at Bones’ hair, he approved.  
  
When, after all the appropriate preludes were observed, so to say, including the fact that Jim could actually be rendered speechless with a certain combination of fingers and tongue, and Bones was— _ungh, Jesus, fucking blissfully_ \-- balls-deep in his best friend and rigger of stupid galaticweb contests, he stopped long enough to lick the side of Jim’s neck. “You could have said something,” he panted, then aimed hard for Jim’s prostate to make his damned point. When Jim’s eyes were done rolling back in his head—hah—and his thighs of steel done clamping even harder around Bones’ back as he arched up to meet him, he rolled his eyes and panted out “What? You don’t have a mouth?”  
  
Sassy, so sassy—there was only one way to respond to brass like that, and that was to fuck those merry blue eyes and cheeky grin senseless.  
  
Afterward, when they were both lying limp and sated in a sprawl, sticky and coated with more bodily fluids than Bones’ doctor brain wanted to think about yet, he muttered into Jim’s neck as much of an apology as he could, what with being all fucked out and all of that. He might have topped, but damn if the kid didn’t have stamina, no matter how tired he’d claimed to be.  
  
“Must have been space madness. Sorry.”  
  
Jim snorted and turned his head just enough to plant a soft, sloppy kiss on Bones’ nose. “Well, thank goodness we’ve found the cure. Can’t have space madness running amok on my ship. Especially since we’re equally hot.”  
  
Bones snorted and levered himself up on his elbows. “I’ll announce the revised standings tomorrow.”  
  
Jim flapped his hands tiredly and pulled Bones back down into a floppy embrace. “Lights zero percent. Nah. No need, Bones. Besides, I like the way things came out.”  
  
In the darkness it was a fumble, but he found Jim’s mouth after a minute. “Me too, kid. Me too.”  

  



End file.
